


The Bodies at the Blue Bird

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, casefic, newly Phracking, plus smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 00:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12353307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Prompt: “Guests are being murdered at a less-than-grand Melbourne hotel. Phryne secretly goes undercover as a hotel maid where she discovers that Jack has already booked a room. Will they unravel the mystery or only each other? Phryne/Jack PWP.” Originally written for the 2016 Phryne ficathon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CollingwoodGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/gifts).



Phryne sat back in her desk chair with a sigh. She’d been attempting to work for the last hour, but her mind kept wandering. She smiled a little—she couldn’t really be sorry, since her mind had been wandering to memories of the night before, when she’d finally seduced Jack Robinson.

He’d been more overt in his attentions since she’d returned from London—and while she’d been gone, as well. He’d “come after her” with letters and telegrams, keeping himself at top of mind even as she took London by storm. She’d only lasted two months before she felt the need to come home and see if he’d make good on some of the things he’d written.

She shivered a little. They had taken it slow for three whole weeks—delightful weeks, to be sure, filled with dinners and dancing and bone-melting kisses—before she’d finally convinced him that it was time for him to come to her bed. It had been worth the wait. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering his mouth on her skin, the taste of him, the way he filled her. She bit her lip and let out a small sigh. Maybe a small rest was in order. Just to focus her mind.

Her smile widening, she stood, intending to request a tea tray from Mr. Butler for about a half hour from now, when the man himself appeared in her office doorway.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but you have a visitor.”

“A visitor?”

“Yes, miss. A Mrs. Dabenham-Blakeley; I believe she is a prospective client. I’ve put her in the parlor.” He looked at her, his kind eyes keen. “Shall I make up some tea?”

Phryne glanced at the clock, putting aside her plans for a quiet moment alone, at least for now. “That would be delightful, Mr. B. Perhaps some sandwiches as well?” Mr. Butler nodded quietly and made his way down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Phryne took a moment to check that her large golden necklace was still fastened carefully centered on her white blouse and that her white trousers and crocheted coat had no smudges. Beatrice Dabenham-Blakeley was a society friend of Aunt Prudence’s, for all that “Trish” was easily fifteen years younger and a good foot taller. Phryne didn’t want Aunt P getting a report of her niece being slovenly.

Moving across the hall, Phryne paused in the back doorway to the parlor, looking across at her guest. Mrs. Dabenham-Blakeley sat in one of the armchairs, her posture finishing-school precise and her gloved hands clasped on top of her handbag, looking around the room with a kind of awed incredulousness on her face. She was about the same height as Phryne, with softly waving brown hair that she wore swept into a low roll across the back of her head. Her face was handsome—she’d likely been a beauty in her youth—with brown eyes, full lips, and golden skin. Her dress was fashionable, in a deep green that suited her complexion well.

“Mrs. Dabenham-Blakeley, how lovely to see you!” Phryne said, announcing herself. The older woman turned to face her with a start of surprise. “I _am_ sorry—I’ve startled you. I was in my office, just there,” she waved vaguely through the doorway, “and I didn’t want to keep you waiting. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, hello Miss Fisher—”

“Please call me Phryne.” Phryne moved around the chaise to seat herself opposite the lady, crossing one leg comfortably over the other.

“Thank you, Phryne. And you must call me Trish,” she smiled, but it was a weak thing. Something was obviously troubling her. “Your aunt said I should approach you. I find myself in— in a bit of a bother.”

“I’m happy that Aunt Prudence thought of me.” Phryne laid one wrist over the other on her crossed knees and tilted her head with a smile. “How can I help you?”

Trish’s hands gripped at her handbag and she looked down. “I recently had a piece of jewelry stolen. It was an heirloom piece, a brooch that belonged to my husband’s mother. He doesn’t know that it’s missing yet, but he likes me to wear it regularly, and if it isn’t found… well, he will be very unhappy.” She raised her eyes to Phryne’s, and they were swimming with tears.

“All right, I will do my very best to find it for you. Can you tell me where you had it last?” Phryne leaned forward.

“Well, that’s— that’s rather the sticky wicket, you might say,” Trish swallowed hard. “I do know where I had it last, precisely.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “It was— I was—”

At that moment, Mr. Butler brought in a tea tray stacked with small sandwiches and chocolate biscuits in addition to the steaming pot of tea.

“Thank you, Mr. B!” Phryne’s voice was jovial, though she saw that her guest’s face had gone white. “Would you be so kind as to close the parlor doors for me? Mrs. Dabenham-Blakeley and I need to have a private coze.” She leaned forward and put her hand on the teapot. “Trish, do you take cream or sugar?”

Phryne chattered calmly as she prepared their tea, waiting for Mr. Butler to leave the room. When he had, she handed Trish the cup and saucer, complete with a sandwich and biscuit propped on the edge, and sat back on the chaise with her own cup.

“All right, Trish,” she said, taking a small sip of tea, her eyes on the other woman’s. “You have my word that I will not breathe a word of this to anyone not directly involved, but I need for you to tell me everything. If you don’t tell me the truth, we may as well never begin.”

Trish’s cup rattled in the saucer as she held it, then again as she lifted it and took a drink. She nodded solemnly at Phryne.

“Please, Miss Fisher. I know that you are discreet, and good at your job. I just… this information—if it were to get out, it could ruin me.” She met Phryne’s eyes, her face completely serious. Taking a deep breath, she began.

“I have, for the duration of my marriage, and with my husband’s support, been taking physical comfort in the arms of other people.” She swallowed. “Other… feminine people.”

“Ah,” was all that Phryne said, as she took another sip of tea.

“I have been a regular at the Blue Bird Hotel for nearly twenty years—do you know that establishment?”

“I know of it, yes. I haven’t patronized it myself.” The Blue Bird was a genteel place, if slightly shabby, and it had a longstanding reputation for catering to those who needed a way to get away from their spouses, in whatever form that took. For most of the guests, it was a place where if you had a lover, you could meet and know that everyone else there was likely also stepping outside the bonds of marriage; if you didn’t have a lover, the staff at the Blue Bird was known to be very helpful in finding you one.

“Yes, well,” Trish cleared her throat, her eyes glancing away from Phryne’s. “For the last several years, I’ve had the staff find me company for… for the short term.” Her voice trailed off toward the end of the sentence; Phryne could see that her face was reddening, likely with embarrassment.

“I see.” Phryne said quietly. “And you last saw your brooch on your most recent visit there?” Trish nodded. “When was that?”

“Two days ago,” Trish said. “I had it when I arrived, but when I left the next morning, it was no longer pinned to my suit. I didn’t want to raise a fuss—I mean, if I had, someone might have heard, and noticed…” Her face reflected the horror of that idea.

“Did you tell my aunt where you’d lost the brooch?” Phryne kept her voice calm. She rarely worried about gossip, herself, but she knew that she was in the minority there. And the social consequences for what Trish was describing could be catastrophic.

“Of course not,” Trish said, her hand rising to her throat. “I just told her that my brooch had gone missing, and she suggested that I talk to you. Will you help me, Phryne?”

“Absolutely, Trish. Let me get my notebook and we can go over the details again and make a plan of attack.”

 

* * *

 

Jack Robinson stepped out of the main front door of the Victoria Police Force’s Russell Street headquarters late in the day. He lifted one hand to rub the back of his neck. He’d just been handed an assignment directly from the top brass, and he wasn’t particularly happy about it. He set off toward where he’d parked his car at a brisk walk, wondering how he was going to tell Phryne.

These past three weeks since she’d been home—and indeed, the time that she’d been away—had been extraordinary. He was happier than he could remember being in a very long time, even if for the longest time they hadn’t done more than step out together, dining and dancing. His mouth curved at the thought of dancing with Phryne Fisher at the Green Mill. She had pressed herself against him as the jazz band wailed, and it had been all he could do to leave her at her door with only a kiss.

But then last night, she’d made him happier still. Every time he closed his eyes, he found himself transported back to her boudoir, with its silk sheets and scents of perfume and Phryne and, eventually, sex. He only had to breathe to remember the taste of her mouth and her skin; his fingers tingled with the memory of touching her, and he’d been on edge all day, waiting to meet her for a drink and, he hoped, another chance to make love to her.

And now he was being told that he was expected to investigate a pair of murders at the Blue Bird Hotel, which was on the west side of town—the opposite direction to Wardlow—and that he was expected to be on site and a _visible police presence_ until the murders had been solved.

“The owner is a friend, Robinson,” the commissioner had said, his eyes on Jack. “I want to make sure that his establishment doesn’t come to any harm from this incident. I told him I’d send my best, and that’s you. The sooner you solve it, the sooner you’ll be back behind your own desk.”

Jack had been speechless at the idea that the commissioner considered him “the best” and he only nodded. “Is there a case file?”

The commissioner had handed it over. “They’re expecting you in the morning.” With a sharp nod, he’d dismissed Jack, who’d left without another word.

Outside the building, Jack considered the options. If the commissioner’s friend wasn’t expecting him until tomorrow, at least he could have tonight with Phryne. His body reacted to the thought, and he cursed lightly under his breath. He’d be at a hotel—maybe she’d want to join him for a night or two? That would be terribly unprofessional, not to mention that it could be dangerous—there’d been two murders, after all. He’d see what the situation was and then send word to her.

Climbing into his car, he took a moment to review the case file. Two victims had been found, one male, one female. The male had been found first, but the coroner who’d examined them seemed to think it was likely that the female had been dead a half-day before the male. Both of them had ties to the hotel—hence Jack’s assignment—but that might not have anything to do with it at all.

The female had been a sometime prostitute: Becky Reading, twenty-two, 5'6", brown and blue. She’d had a few knocks on her police record: a couple for soliciting and a couple for assault—she apparently had little tolerance for those who tried to grope without paying. Jack tilted his head to one side. _Understandable, that._ She’d been working as a hostess in the hotel restaurant— _And_ _likely turning tricks on the side; hotels are fertile ground for such things_ —for three months, and her body had washed up in the Yarra yesterday. Broken neck and bruising consistent with a fall down a staircase.

The male was an ex-con who’d spent four years in short stints behind bars for small crimes—petty theft, assault, public drunkenness— _Quite a prize, this one_. Ian MacMorran, twenty-eight, 5'10", red and brown. He’d been working in the hotel kitchen, washing dishes, mostly. His body had been found behind the hotel, the apparent victim of a robbery; coshed over the head, beaten, anything that had been in his pockets stolen. Funny thing, though—the coroner thought that some of the beating had been delivered postmortem. That could just have been rage on the killer’s part, but it could mean that someone was trying to cover up the cause of death.

Shuffling the case folder closed again, he set it aside and turned on the ignition. If he was going to be away for the next few days, he needed to clear out some paperwork and make sure his other cases were covered. He’d spend a couple of hours at his desk before heading over to Wardlow. Smiling a little at the thought, he pulled out into traffic and headed toward City South.

 

* * *

 

By the time Jack arrived at Phryne’s house, it was well past dinner. The paperwork that needed cleaning up had been more complicated than expected, and he’d had to pass his open cases to three other inspectors under his command. He’d called Phryne to let her know that he likely wouldn’t make it for the dinner they’d planned, but that he hoped to be welcomed for a nightcap later. Now it was later, and he stood outside her house, rapping quietly at her front door.

When the door swung open, it was Phryne herself standing behind it; her bright smile assured him that, late or not, he was welcome. She wore one of her Oriental silk robes—the burgundy-and-pink one—and the overlapped front dipped low between her breasts and showed nothing but creamy skin.

“Jack.” Her voice was breathy, and he stepped through the door, already shedding his topcoat and hat. When he’d pulled them off and hung them on their hooks, she slid up to press herself against him, her arms sliding around his neck.

“Am I too late?” He wrapped his arms around her and dipped his head to press his mouth to hers. Her lips were unpainted and her flavor flooded his mouth—whiskey and woman, two of his favorites.

“Never,” she breathed. “Nightcap?”

He shook his head. “No, just you.”

With a smile, she pulled away; taking his hand in hers, she led him up the stairs. He followed, his low voice quiet in the darkened stairwell.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day,” he murmured. “The softness of your skin, your scent when you’re aroused,” he leaned in to bury his nose in the small of her back, breathing deeply. “Those noises you make when you come…”

“Jack,” she whispered. Turning, she faced him from two steps above the middle landing.

He stepped closer, holding her eyes, before he pressed his face to the juncture of her thighs, breathing deeply of her aroused flesh. Sliding his hand from hers, he pushed both hands inside her robe, cupping her thighs and baring her to his gaze. As he’d suspected, she wore no undergarments, and he could see moisture starring the black hair that lay over her sex. With a groan, he leaned in again, this time sliding his tongue between her folds.

Phryne whimpered, one hand flailing for the stair rail, the other pushing into his hair. When he felt her grip, he cupped one of her thighs and lifted it, tucking his shoulder underneath to open her up to his greedy mouth. He fastened his mouth to her sex, licking and sucking at her clitoris, lapping up her juices as she threw her head back and moaned her pleasure. His big hands pressed against her lower back to steady her as he ate at her, his lips and tongue busily stroking her clit, licking across her outer lips, and drawing her inner lips into his mouth before pressing his tongue into her body. Phryne threw her head back, her hips moving against him, pushing herself onto his tongue as he fucked her.

Dropping her head forward again, Phryne gasped his name, over and over, and Jack licked his way back up to her clitoris, wrapping his lips around it and using his tongue to bat at the turgid bud. Glancing up at her, he caught her eyes as he suckled her, humming slightly against her flesh.

With a short, soft scream, she came, her legs buckling; she clutched at his shoulders and he surged up her body to take her in his arms. With a grunt, he lifted her and practically ran the rest of the way up the stairs to her bedroom. He laid her on the bed and began frantically tearing at his clothing, throwing it piece by piece toward the sofa and missing half the time. When he was naked, she was still lying limply across the bed, her legs dangling over the side, her eyes half-closed but watching him.

Jack growled slightly as he came to stand between her legs, one hand on her knee pushing her legs wide. With his other hand, he pressed two fingers inside her body, feeling for her internal device—he’d intended to ask her whether she’d inserted the thing, but words escaped him. She arched with the pleasure of his penetration, hooking her heels up on the edge of the bed; when she did, he felt the small bump at the crown of the rubber cap. Pulling his fingers out, he positioned his cock at her opening and pushed inside, both hands grasping her knees to hold her open as he slid slowly in. Phryne arched again, calling his name, her arms flying wide to grasp at the duvet as he began to pump his hips slowly at first, then gaining speed until he was pistoning within her.

Her robe, still tied at her waist, gaped open and her breasts bounced with every thrust; with a groan, Jack leaned forward to take one of her hardened nipples in his mouth, his hips pressing hard at hers until he was pulsing within her without leaving the warmth of her body. Phryne keened with pleasure as he suckled first one breast and then the other, curling his back to continue to provide pressure at her crotch, the warm skin of his pelvis pushing against her clitoris in slow, soft pulses.

“Harder, Jack,” she moaned, and he reluctantly straightened, his hands sliding under her thighs to open her up to him again as he began to pound, slinging his hips into and out of her body at slightly different angles, looking for her sweet spot. Phryne’s hands moved to cover her breasts herself, squeezing and pulling at her nipples.

After a while, she lifted her leg to place her calf on his shoulder, and Jack slid his hand around her thigh to press at her clitoris from the front, two fingers scissoring over the sensitive bud as he continued to thrust.

“I’m coming, Phryne,” he moaned, and he followed the words with action, pushing himself as deep within her as he could get, his hips stuttering with pleasure as he flooded her with hot pulses of fluid. His fingers on her clit sped up, wiggling atop the distended flesh as he continued to hold himself deep inside her body. He was still half-hard, and the feel of her flesh wrapped around him promised to bring him all the way back sooner rather than later.

“Do you want—?” He panted out the words, his fingers busy as he watched her tug at her nipples.

“No just… just keep doing that—yes, that, there… oh god, Jack, yes that!” She lifted her other foot from the side of the bed and, sliding her raised leg down, placed both feet flat on his buttocks, her toes digging into his flesh.

Jack continued the motions of his fingers until she came a second time, her face contorting with pleasure and her pelvis curling upward as she cried out. He could feel the contractions of her passage along his cock, and to his shock, he felt himself release again; he cried out and dropped his head to her chest, panting.

Phryne stroked her hands through his hair and down his back, helping to calm him with the motion. With a sigh, he spoke against her skin.

“’M I too heavy?”

“Not too heavy, but you don’t seem very comfortable,” she replied quietly, laughter in her voice.

“On the contrary, I like where I am just fine,” he said, pressing his hips lightly against hers.

She laughed again, lifting his head to kiss him.

“Come to bed, Jack,” she said quietly. With a small smile, he complied, withdrawing from her and moving so that they could both crawl beneath the covers.

It wasn’t until they were both almost asleep that he remembered what he’d had to tell her.

“Phryne?”

“Mmm?”

“I have to go away, for work. For a few days, maybe a week.”

Her arms tightened around him where she’d draped herself over his chest, and she sighed.

“Actually, I do too. I didn’t want to think about it.” Her voice was low.

“Do you? Damn. I was rather hoping that maybe you could join me later, once I’ve figured out the lay of the land.” He tightened his arms around her as well, dropping a kiss to her head.

“Well, I’m not sure how long I’ll be, so send me a message when you know if there’s a place for me; I’ll be checking in here on a regular basis.”

“I can do that. Maybe we’ll get lucky and end up with a day or two to ourselves.”

“Let’s hope, inspector.” She propped herself up on her elbows and leaned in to kiss him. “And until then, maybe we should make the most of the time we have, hmmm?”

“An excellent idea, Miss Fisher.” He kissed her back, warmly, and neither of them slept for a very long time.


	2. Chapter 2

By noon the following day, Phryne had secured a position as a maid at the Blue Bird Hotel. She’d considered going in as herself, using the excuse of a room being remodeled or something like that—she’d decamped to a hotel before for such reasons—but the expectation that the guests were there for sex stopped her. She had no objections to being there for sex, if Jack had been available to be her plaything, but he wasn’t available and their relationship was too new to have her even considering someone else.

It was a rare thing for Phryne to want the same man in her bed for an extended period of time—or rather, for more than one extended period of time—but Jack was a special case. Before he’d been her lover, he had been her friend, and what was between them felt precious because of it. She intended to do her best to maintain monogamy for as long as she could.

Dressed in her scratchy maid’s uniform—even the one Dot had worn in the Andrews’ house the first time they’d met had been better; this one was a faded black gown with a white apron on top, with skirts that stretched to her ankles and sleeves that went to her wrists—Phryne peeked into the lobby, looking toward the front desk. She hoped to be able to take a peek at the register, to see whether any notation had been made about the “company” that had been procured for Mrs. Dabenham-Blakeley.

When she saw that the lobby appeared empty, she moved swiftly and surely, knowing that if she looked as if she belonged, no one would question that she did. Ducking behind the counter, she flipped the registry book open to the bookmark in the most recent page. She scanned the names, looking for the pseudonym that Trish had given her (Mrs. Chatterley—a name that revealed her client’s reading habits, since that character’s husband had also encouraged his wife to find satisfaction outside the bonds of their marriage). As she skimmed quickly, her finger drawing up the entries starting at the most recent, she froze.

_Det. Insp. Jack Robinson, rm 314._

Phryne felt her mouth drop open in shock before her lips curved in a wicked grin. Was it possible Jack’s case was at this hotel? Continuing to search, she found Mrs. Chatterley’s name with a small “BR” noted beside it and was just closing the register when she heard a voice behind her.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Phryne turned, a smile on her face. The man she faced was dressed in an inexpensive suit that strained against his round belly, and he wore a bright blue bow tie; his round face was red and slightly sweaty, and he’d combed the few strands of hair that remained on his crown across the top of his bald head.

“Hallo,” she said, Collingwood accent firmly in place. “It’s m’first day, an’ I were lookin’ for the roster—d’you keep it up here? That’s where m’last place did.”

“The roster is kept in the staff room, not in the public area,” he said disdainfully, trying to look down his nose at her despite the fact that he was several inches shorter than she was.

“My mistake, then,” she said with a cheerful grin. “I’ll just go see wot my section is.”

“Do that,” he said. He eyed her carefully. “What’s your name?”

“Franny Baker,” she said promptly. “Wot’s yours?”

“Edmund McKee,” he said. “I’m the concierge here.”

Phryne drew her eyebrows together, affecting a confused look. “The con-see-what? Wot’s that?”

“I help our guests find anything they may need.” His upper lip curled in a sneer.

“Ohh, I get it,” she said, smiling again and nodding so enthusiastically that her faux bun bobbled a little, “yer like a butler, doin’ for the toffs! Well, that’s right nice of you.”

The little man shook his head in disgust. “You should go find your section, Miss Baker.” His tone was frigid.

“O’course, right.” Phryne stuck her hand out, and when McKee looked at it and then back to her face in surprise, she pulled it back as if uncertain. “I’ll jes’ go then, shall I?”

“Please do.” McKee turned to pull a few sheets of hotel stationery out of a drawer, a clear dismissal. With a smirk at the back of his head, Phryne turned and headed toward the back rooms to find a staircase.

 _Concierge, my Aunt Mary. That man is nothing more than a procurer, or I’ll eat my hat._ Phryne looked around as she headed into the staff areas. Passing the office where Mrs. Staunton, the woman who’d hired her this morning, worked with her head down at a small desk, Phryne moved quickly. Mrs. Staunton was a bit of a dragon—she reminded Phryne of her Aunt Prudence; she was stern and no-nonsense, and certain that her way of viewing the world was the right one.

“Don’t go acting above your station, my girl,” she’d said, looking at Phryne with narrowed eyes. “You’re a pretty thing, and there’ll be those guests who’d like to distract you from your duties for a bit o’ fun. That’s not what you’re here for, and if I find that you’re dallying instead of working, you won’t have a job to go back to. You understand me?”

“Yes ma’am,” Phryne had said. “I’ve no need to dally with anyone—I have a sweetheart, I do, and he’d not be pleased if I stepped out with someone else.” _Not a lie_ , she’d thought. _But wouldn’t Jack be surprised to hear me call him my sweetheart?_

Mrs. Staunton had harrumphed and set her up with the uniform. She’d shadowed Phryne through the first block of ten rooms she’d cleaned, then sent Phryne off for a break. There would be more rooms for Phryne to do, and she planned to do them. Just not quite yet.

Off the kitchen area, she found a stairwell that was clearly intended for staff use. It was steep and narrow, a straight shot up to each floor, switching tightly back on itself with only a small landing barely wide enough for two people to pass. Centered on each landing was a door that opened onto one end of the floor’s guest hallway. One hand on the handrail and the other trailing along the wall, Phryne climbed up to the third floor, her destination held firmly in mind.

 

* * *

 

At the knock on his door, Jack looked up from the small desk in the corner of his hotel room, where he’d been sitting in his shirtsleeves to work. He had brought a stack of paperwork to deal with between his patrols of the hotel, including the case files for the two murders. He’d been studying those, along with the layout of the hotel and the staff interviews he’d managed so far, since he’d arrived three hours ago. He checked his watch. Not lunchtime yet, and he had forty-five minutes until he was supposed to be out in the hallways again, making his presence known.

“Who is it?” He pitched his voice to carry, but with a tone that wasn’t welcoming. He’d already been approached by a hotel guest who was looking for a plaything, and he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience.

“Housekeeping.” The female voice had a strong Collingwood accent, but there was something familiar about it.

“Can you come back later?”

“Sorry, sir—I’m on a schedule,” was the response.

“Well, then can you come back tomorrow?”

“It’s m’first day, sir, and I’m told I need to do this room. Please sir, I won’t bother you a bit.”

Jack sighed and closed up the reports he was reading before heading to the door. He hadn’t thought the hotel management to be quite so determined, but if it was her first day, she was likely nervous. He supposed he could stand to have his room cleaned.

Jack opened the door and looked down at the woman standing before him. She wore a hotel maid’s uniform, complete with white cap over dark hair pulled back into a bun, and minimal makeup. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Phryne?”

“Shh, Jack,” she pushed past him. “I’m Franny here—Franny Baker.”

“What are you doing here? Wait—just a minute,” He closed the door behind her, then came close to take her in his arms and kiss her soundly. She wrapped her arms around him, too, her mouth on his welcoming and warm. After a few moments, he lifted his head; keeping his arms wrapped around her, he looked narrow-eyed down at her.

“No really, what are you doing here?” Jack’s voice was not entirely steady, not an asset when he was going for stern.

“I told you, I have a case,” she said, her voice light. “What luck that it appears to be the same case you have!”

“How did you even know about this? It doesn’t seem like anyone involved would run in your circles.”

Phryne scoffed. “You’d be surprised what happens in my circles, Jack.” She grinned at him. “But why do you need to be here? And registered under your own name? It doesn’t seem like a case that would require that level of attention.”

“It’s going to be difficult enough,” he said, “though now that you’re here, it should go faster.” She squeezed him in thanks for the compliment. “Apparently, the hotel owner is a friend of the commissioner’s, and he wanted to ‘send his best.’”

“Seems like rather a waste, putting his ‘best’ on a case like this,” she said easily, letting him go and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Though I can’t be sorry that you’re here. It’s a rather nice bonus for me.” Her grin turned wicked, and she planted her hands behind herself on the bed, her knees falling open.

Jack, for once, barely noticed. “What do you mean, ‘on a case like this’?” Jack frowned a little, resting his hands on his hips. It wasn’t like Phryne to be dismissive of death, regardless of the victim’s status. “I’ll admit, my being on site is a little unusual, but the case itself is important.”

“Of course it is, Jack!” Phryne sat up, dropping her playfully inviting posture; her tone was surprised. “My client would definitely agree. It’s just… a simple theft just seems so—”

“Theft?” He blinked at her, his eyebrows raising and his hands falling limply to his sides. “Is that what your case is?”

“Yes, jewel theft. Possibly a string of them if my suspicions are correct.” She tilted her head, her eyes on his face. “Isn’t that what your case is too?”

“No,” he said grimly, moving toward the desk. He lifted the case file and brought it to her. “Mine is likely a double murder. Victim one was a prostitute, broken neck due to fall down the stairs, body dumped in the river; she worked as a hostess in the restaurant downstairs. Victim two was an ex-con who worked in the kitchen; he was found beaten to death in the back alley, though a good portion of his wounds appeared to be postmortem, and the cause of death appears to be a blow to the temple.”

“Someone making it look like a beating rather than an ambush attack,” she mused, taking the file and opening it to skim through. “Jack…” she said, partway down the second page. “This says that the woman who was killed was named Becky Reading? That’s the name of the woman my client hired for the evening her brooch was stolen.”

It was Jack’s turn to look surprised. “Perhaps we’re working the same case after all,” he rumbled. “What I can’t figure is the motive. Why kill them?”

“If these cases are related, maybe she was the thief, and he was her fence?” Phryne rose to set the file back on the desk before turning to stand in front of Jack. “Maybe she wanted to stop, or she wanted a bigger cut?”

“Could be, though if he killed her, then who killed him? There has to be a third party.”

Phryne’s eyes were locked on his face, but he could tell that she was thinking hard. “Jealous lover, maybe? Saw the two of them together and jumped to a conclusion?”

“It’s possible, I suppose. We can ask whether the two victims had any connection aside from working here.”

Phryne was still considering. “Or maybe he wasn’t involved in the thefts,” she said slowly, “but whoever was her fence had reason to believe she’d betrayed him somehow?”

Jack shook his head in wonder. “That makes even more sense to me. You are amazing.”

Phryne grinned cheekily up at him, sliding her arms around his waist. “I have a vivid imagination, inspector.” He wrapped his arms around her as well, his lips twitching with a smile.

“So I’ll need to interview the rest of the staff, then, see if any of them know anything. I’ve only spoken to the management so far.”

“Ooh, so you’ll interview _me_ , Jack?” Phryne purred up at him, her eyes dancing.

“Perhaps I’ll save you for last, Miss Fisher,” he said, his voice low as he lowered his head to kiss her.

“An excellent idea,” she murmured, her mouth opening to let his tongue inside.

He smoothed an arm up her back to the nape of her neck, his own head tilting to bring their mouths into alignment. He could feel himself hardening against her—the taste of her was thrilling, and the idea that she wanted him to kiss her made it all the sweeter.

Phryne pulled her mouth away slightly, her breath coming quickly. “I still have a little time left on my break, Jack. Did you ever fantasize about screwing the maid?”

“Not until just now,” he growled, pushing her backward toward the bed. “Do I have time to get you naked?”

“Probably not,” she panted, her hands moving around to the front of his trousers to mold his hardening length with her palms. “You’d better just bend me over the end of the bed. And watch the hair—my bun is already unsteady.”

With a sharply indrawn breath, Jack caught her upper arms and spun her; she lost her balance slightly but caught herself with her palms on the mattress. Jack bent down behind her, stroking his fingers up her stockinged legs and gathering her skirt from the bottom edge.

“Silk stockings, Miss Fisher?”

“A girl has to have some indulgences, inspector.” Glancing up at Phryne, he saw that she was watching him, her white teeth biting into her pink lower lip.

He pressed a kiss to the back of her knee as he pushed her skirt up higher and higher. Reaching the tops of her garters, he opened his mouth against her naked thigh, flicking his tongue out to taste her. She moaned at the sensation, and he breathed in her scent—arousal spiked by French perfume. With both hands, he stroked up and over her ass, the silk of her camiknickers soft against his palms. Glancing at her again, he pressed his mouth to the buttoned seam of her underthings, running his tongue along the edges.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, sliding his hands down to undo her buttons. He studied her sex, his hands stroking lightly through the wetness, his thumbs opening her labia so that he could see all of her.

“God, Jack, I want you inside me.” Her voice was rough, and a look up at her showed that she’d lowered her chest to the mattress and was clutching the covers in both hands.

“Family planning?” He said, his mouth against her clitoris. He laid the flat of his tongue against her and licked the length of her, swirling around the opening to her body before going back down to tease her clit again.

“Damn, no,” she said, almost sobbing.

“Good thing for you this hotel is known for its amenities, then,” he said. With another kiss to her clit, he stood. “Don’t move.”

He moved toward the bedside table and pulled out a drawer. Inside was a box of condoms, and he slid one packet out. He turned to face Phryne, who had taken him at his word and was lying pressed against the bed, her bare ass in the air and her eyes on him. With a slightly wicked smile, he watched her as he unbuttoned his straining trousers. Phryne licked her lips at the sight of his cock, already hard, as he took himself in hand, stroking himself three times from root to tip and back again—quick motions that were designed to bring him even harder.

“Jack, hurry!”

Looking back at Phryne, he saw that her eyes were on him, and one of her hands now disappeared under her belly. He guessed that she was stroking herself, and suddenly he wanted to see that. His nostrils flaring, he quickly unwrapped the condom and rolled it on. Moving back around the bed to stand behind her, he took a moment just to look.

She was touching herself, two fingers spearing inside her body and her thumb vigorously circling her clit. He felt the blood rush to his dick; felt himself grow harder even than he had been, and he grasped his cock just below the head, squeezing lightly to keep himself from orgasming just at the sight.

“Another time, Phryne, I want to watch you do that.” His voice was low, his tone filthy.

“Only if I get to watch you make yourself come too,” she said, her voice breathy with desire.

“Deal,” he said. He wasn’t sure how he’d withstand the mortification of wanking in front of Phryne, but that wasn’t something he had to worry about right now. “Move your fingers, love.”

She withdrew, pulling her hand up beside her head again to grip the bedspread, and Jack stepped in to place the head of his cock at her opening.

“Ready?”

“Please, Jack!”

She arched her hips as if trying to pull him inside, and he obliged. With one push, he slid smoothly into her, the warm clasp of her body making him groan. Leaning over her, he planted his palms on the bed beside her, pushing in until his balls rested snugly against her mons.

“Oh god, Jack, you feel so good,” she moaned, lifting her head to kiss him.

He met her mouth with his, their tongues dueling; he loved the feeling of being inside her, the squeeze of her muscles as he just stayed still, but after a moment, he had to move. Pushing up on his hands, he began to pump his hips, sliding out until only the head of his cock remained inside and then thrusting slowly back in. Phryne widened her stance a little, and he slid one hand underneath her, between her apron and her dress, to cup her breast, pinching her nipple lightly through the fabric as he continued the motion of his hips.

“Jack, please, harder,” she gasped, turning to press her forehead into the bed.

Jack stood up, moving his hands to her hips, and obliged—he set his feet between hers and used his thighs to swing himself into and out of her, his balls slapping against her clit with every plunge. Before long, he could hear a high-pitched keening coming Phryne, though she was trying to muffle it in the doona. In response, Jack changed his angle a little, straightening his legs to try and hit the front of her passage with each thrust. He closed his eyes, his whole world narrowing to the hot slick grasp of her body on his.

With a wail, Phryne broke, her orgasm stiffening her thighs and making them shake; Jack felt her muscles clench around him and his own orgasm spear through him. With a low shout, he thrust one last time, holding himself tightly within her as he felt the liquid pulses of his climax roll through his cock.

Resting his head against Phryne’s back, he tried to regulate his breathing. When he stopped shaking, he rose up, laying a kiss to the underside of her jaw; catching the condom to keep it from slipping, he moved to dispose of it. Turning back and tucking himself away, he saw that Phryne was still prone, boneless with release and breathing deeply; he crossed to the pitcher of water on the dresser and wet a cloth, going back to clean her off before buttoning her camiknickers and pulling her dress back down over her legs.

At the first touch of the cloth, she raised herself up on her elbows and looked back at him. “You are the most amazing man, Jack Robinson,” she said, her voice tender.

“Why, because I cleaned you up?” Straightening from where he’d been crouched, smoothing her dress down, he reached out a hand to pull her up.

“That,” she laughed, “and because you immediately let me in to your case without blinking. And the way that you make me come is remarkable.”

He pulled her into a laughing hug. “Well, as long as I’m the one you’re remarking to, I’m not going to argue.”

“No promises, Jack. Sometimes a girl has to brag.” With a grin, she reached up to kiss him one last time, hard, before pulling away. “I need to go finish my shift. Shall I come back this evening?”

“Please do. Are you going to go home first?”

“I will—as delightful as that was, I prefer feeling nothing between us.” She placed her hand on the doorknob, but waited to turn it when he spoke.

“Just… please, Phryne. Be careful, will you? This person has already killed twice, and if it is about the jewelry and you’re discovered…” He looked at her very seriously. “I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

Phryne tilted her head at him, her eyes soft. “I will. You be careful too, Jack.”

He nodded, clenching his jaw. With a small smile, she blew him a kiss before letting herself out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Phryne woke the following morning to the scent of coffee and toast. She’d come back to the hotel after a quick trip home to Wardlow the evening before, and she and Jack had spent the evening—and then the night—together. She’d brought a small hamper with dinner from Mr. Butler, and they’d had a lovely picnic on the bed as they talked through the case, followed by her good whiskey, which they’d drunk propped up against the headboard of the bed, snuggled together. And then, once they’d gone to bed, there’d been the lovemaking. Jack was an imaginative lover with impressive stamina.

“Remarkable,” she had panted after the third time he’d brought her to orgasm.

“You keep saying that.” His voice was low as he lay over her, his mouth near her ear.

“It keeps being true,” she laughed breathlessly, the sound turning into a moan as he pressed his lips to her neck and began to move again. “Oh god, Jack, this is past remarkable and bordering on—yes, there—tall tales. I can’t remark on it. No one would believe me.”

Jack had lifted his head, a smirk stretching his lips as he continued to pleasure her. “Well then,” he said, “perhaps we should be aiming for legendary.” And then he’d covered her mouth with his and neither of them spoke for a very long time.

Smiling at the memories, she stretched, her hand sweeping over the sheets to search for him. When she found them cool, she lifted her head and opened her eyes. He stood beside the bed holding a tray from which the delicious smells emanated, a smirk on his face.

“Breakfast?”

He waited until she’d turned to rest her back against the headboard, tucking the sheet up under her arms, then sat down beside her, the tray on his lap. With a smile, he passed her a cup of coffee, then lifted a piece of toast, scraped butter across it, and passed her that too.

Phryne gazed at him, knowing that her expression must be foolish, but unable to really care. He was just the most darling man. She sighed happily.

“So what’s on the agenda today, Jack?”

“Well, you go back to work, keep your eyes and ears open. I’ll start questioning the rest of the staff, see what I can find out.” He lifted a slice of toast piled high with marmalade to his mouth, and the humming sound of pleasure he made when the flavor hit his tongue made Phryne’s body loosen. He made that same sound when he had his mouth on her. She took a bite of her own toast, concentrating on it to keep herself from pouncing on him. It was rather good bread.

“All right. I just hope we solve this soon. I’m not sure I have another day in me of cleaning up other people’s messes—especially sexual messes. And it seems that everyone in this hotel is having sex, if the state of their sheets is anything to go by.” She grimaced.

Jack grinned. “Present company included.”

She smiled back at him, licking butter off her lips. “Well, yes, but my own sexual messes are a very different prospect.”

Jack waggled his eyebrows at her and she actually giggled; her eyes grew wide and she clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise. Jack laughed out loud, and Phryne joined him—it wasn’t really funny, she supposed, but she was just so _happy_ to be with him. Swiping a slice of his toast—marmalade and all—she took an enormous bite, which set him off laughing again. Still chuckling, Jack rose to set the breakfast tray on the dresser. With a sigh, Phryne followed, smiling at his quickly indrawn breath when she strolled across the room in the nude.

Glancing at him where he leaned against the dresser, still munching on marmalade toast, she wet a cloth at the pitcher and basin and proceeded to clean herself up. Jack watched her every move, his eyes heavy-lidded. Phryne found herself slowing her motions, making them languid, and turning the simple act of washing up into a dance of attraction.

“God, Phryne, if you keep that up, you’re just going to have to do it again after I ravish you,” Jack growled.

She could tell that he meant it. He stood against the dresser, both hands now wrapped around his coffee cup; she could see his burgeoning arousal in the tenting of his trousers.

“I’m late for work, Jack,” she purred. “Maybe there’ll be time during my interview later.” She smirked at him and draped the damp washcloth over the edge of the basin before moving away to don her silk underthings.

“I’ll just have to make sure there’s a lock on the door, then.”

“I’ll look forward to it, inspector.” Her eyes laughed at him as she slid her arms into her black uniform dress, then pinned on her white apron. Turning to the mirror, she gathered up her fake bun and swiftly combed her hair back to fasten it and her cap in place.

He set his coffee aside, coming up to look over her shoulder in the mirror, his hands resting on her hips. He shook his head slightly as she lowered her arms and leaned back against him.

“You are so beautiful, Phryne.” His low voice caressed her, and he dipped his head to press a kiss to her neck. Phryne tilted her head to the side, giving him better access. It struck her that she rather adored the look of the two of them, together. More than just partners.

“Jack…” she murmured, turning to face him and raising her mouth to his. He held her carefully, as if she was fragile and precious, and she wound her arms around him to hold him close as she tenderly kissed him, then laid her head on his shoulder. She wasn’t sure why she liked it that he held her so; she was far from fragile, and he knew it. But perhaps that was the reason—he knew her and her strengths. She stood there for a moment, enjoying being twined around him, before she sighed.

“I really do need to go.”

“All right. Be careful out there today,” he said, kissing her lightly before letting her go.

She nodded. “You too.” She laid her hand on his chest, looking up into his serious eyes.

He nodded back at her, and she stroked his chest as she moved to the door. With one last glance back, she opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

 

* * *

 

Jack watched her go, knowing—though it sounded melodramatic even in his own mind—that she took his heart with her. The day he’d found her in his crime scene spouting out supremely logical theories about John Andrews’ murder had not seemed momentous, and yet it had been a turning point in his life.

Before Phryne had come, he’d been content. He’d missed Rosie, of course, but they hadn’t been able to connect, really, since he’d returned from the war. She was his wife, but he wasn’t the man she’d married anymore. So when she’d moved to her sister’s, it had almost been a relief—the sex had been good, but he’d been thankful to lose the tension that reigned during the rest of their waking hours. He’d buried himself in his work, and he’d never noticed that anything was missing.

He shook his head as he moved to clean himself up and dress for the day. He wouldn’t call the life he’d been living before Phryne incomplete, but he also couldn’t call it happy. Not the way that being with Phryne—even when they were only matching wits—made him happy. And now that they were lovers, “happy” was too mild a word.

Standing before the mirror, he knotted his tie, tucking it into his waistcoat. He shrugged into his jacket, considering himself. He looked professional and stern, which was just what he wanted. He’d see whether any of the staff had seen anything that could help his investigation—he wasn’t sure whether to hope that something broke soon, allowing him to get back to his everyday schedule, or if he’d rather it dragged on a bit to give himself and Phryne a few days out of their daily grind. No, better that it was over soon—Phryne definitely had the more distasteful role, and he didn’t want her to have to do it for too long.

Pocketing his notebook and pencil, Jack locked up his room and headed down to the main lobby to find the hotel manager. Spying the man behind the desk, he strode forward.

“Mr. McKee.” Jack nodded a greeting.

“Ah, Detective Inspector Robinson, how lovely to see you this morning. I trust you had a comfortable night?” The officious little man smiled at Jack, who blinked.

“I did, thank you,” Jack replied.

“And were _all_ of our amenities to your liking?” McKee’s eyes, already small, narrowed at Jack, and his tone was knowing.

Jack donned his best impassive policeman face, and kept his voice cold. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. McKee.”

“It’s only that I happened to be in the hallway when our newest maid left your room this morning. As she hadn’t yet clocked in, I assumed she’d been there all night.” The lascivious smile that the smaller man gave Jack made fury rise inside him. “She’s a pretty one, isn’t she, though she’s not very smart. Tell me, should I approach her about spending time with our other guests?”

“Are you actually asking _me_ whether I think she’d work as a prostitute for your guests? Because if you were, that would be pandering, Mr. McKee, which is illegal. I’d have no choice but to arrest you.” Jack’s voice was hard. “What I do in my free time is none of your concern.” He wondered whether Phryne knew that she’d been seen, and if she did, what this little pimple of a man had said to her.

McKee’s face had flushed with anger at Jack’s response. “Of course, Inspector. No harm was meant, I assure you.” His voice was prim and he straightened his back and raised his chin. “Is there something I can assist you with?”

“Yes, I’d like to speak to each of the members of staff today. And I’ll need a private room in which to do the interviews.” He gazed flatly at McKee. “Your office was handy yesterday; it will do again today.”

McKee pursed his lips and flared his nostrils at Jack’s demand, but he tried, at least, to sound civil. “As you wish, Inspector. I will notify the staff. When would you like to get started?”

“As soon as possible, Mr. McKee. I’ll need the key to your office, please.” He held out his hand and did his best to keep his lips from twitching when the smaller man drew in a deep breath—presumably planning to berate him for his cheek—before thinking better of it. Jack watched as McKee pulled out his key ring and extracted a large brass key, slapping it into Jack’s open palm. Jack wrapped his hand around it and gave a nod before walking away toward the door into the staff hallway.

McKee’s office was the first door off of that hallway; it was a lovely room, paneled in lustrous wood, and it contained a broad wooden desk, a wall of filled bookshelves, and a pair of wing chairs. Jack surveyed the space. It would be intimidating to most of the staff, he thought. Perhaps he’d stay in front of the desk rather than sitting behind it—he wanted to invite confidences, not scare people off.

A sharp knock on the door had him turning; the man who stood there wore a kitchen apron, and there was flour on his trousers. He was broad and round, and the short-sleeved white undershirt he wore beneath the apron strained over his biceps.

“Yes, come in, please,” Jack said, gesturing to one of the wing chairs. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. My name is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson.”

“Dan Gartner,” the man said. His voice was high-pitched and soft, in direct opposition to his physique. “I’m the hotel’s baker.”

“Ah, I believe I tasted your bread this morning—it was excellent.” Jack tried a small smile as he settled into the other chair. “Tell me, Mr. Gartner, did you know Ian MacMorran?”

“I did.” The man’s tone was dry, conveying the fact that he hadn’t thought much of the dead man.

“I take it you didn’t like him?”

“Thought he was too important for kitchen work, din’t he? He was never on time, never cared about the quality of the food we put out.” Gartner shook his head, his expression disgusted. “I’m just as happy not to have him around anymore, though I din’t want him dead.”

“Can you think of anyone who had more serious issues with him?”

Gartner’s brows came together. “I thought he was beat up in the alley—we figured he’d just interrupted some of the local gang going about their business. D’you think someone in the hotel did him in?”

“We’re not certain, Mr. Gartner, and until we are, we’ll pursue all lines of investigation.” Jack smiled slightly again, impressed at the man’s quick mind.

“Fair enough,” Gartner said, nodding. “Nobody in the kitchen liked him. Some o’ the girls din’t mind him, at least for a night or two, but that never lasted long.”

“Did any of those dalliances end badly?”

“Nah,” Gartner shook his head. “There was nothing that serious about any of ‘em.” His lips raised in a smirk. “He just wasn’t very good at pleasin’ anybody, apparently.”

Jack let himself smile a little as well, and he made a note in his book. “What about Becky Reading, did you know her?”

Gartner’s smirk disappeared. “Becky was a nice girl who’d had a hard life. She din’t deserve what was done to her.” He frowned. “She spent that last night with a toff—a lady toff, I think—and I din’t see her after she headed upstairs.”

“Did she regularly take female clients?” Jack kept his voice nonjudgmental.

“She liked the ladies a bit better, I think,” Gartner said with sadness. “Men hadn’t treated her well.”

“Did you and she ever…”

“Me? Nah. I’m a happily married man, inspector.” Gartner shook his head again. “And even if I’d wanted to, Becky didn’t do that kind of thing for fun at all anymore. It was all about the money for her.”

Jack nodded. He’d met women like that before—and if Becky had been that type, it made the possibility of a romantic connection between her and MacMorran much less likely, and might even rule out the killer being a jealous lover with a mistaken idea of their closeness. Unless it was _his_ jealous lover? He’d think on that.

“Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Becky?”

“Can’t say that I can. She was a good little soldier,” his voice had a bitterness to it. “She did the work she’d been hired to do and kept herself to herself for the most part.”

“She was on the books as a hostess in the restaurant—is that the work she was hired to do?”

Gartner eyed him. “I think you know, inspector, what happens at this hotel. Becky did double duty; that hostess job, and occasionally some more _accommodating_ work that stayed off the books.” His eyes were sad. “It was Becky’s choice, her work—I just wish she’d had more options to choose from.”

Jack nodded again, his face serious. “Thank you for speaking to me today, Mr. Gartner. If you think of anything that might help in this investigation, I hope you’ll give me a call.” He took a card from the case he kept in an inside pocket and handed it to the baker, who took it with a nod and stood.

“I hope you find whoever hurt that girl, inspector.” Gartner said grimly. “She deserved more.”

“I’ll do my very best, Mr. Gartner,” Jack said, standing himself to offer the man his hand. Gartner took it and shook it once, decisively, before leaving.

Jack heard similar stories from all of the staff: MacMorran had been an arrogant, snobbish man who thought that honest labor was beneath him and wasn’t even any good in bed. Becky Reading had mostly kept to herself, but those she’d spoken to spoke highly of her.

“She had a temper, though,” one of the maids had said. “You din’t see it often, but she din’t take anyone trying to get with her for free. She slapped Ian one time—and rightly so, with him touchin’ her where he oughtn’t without permission.” The girl had shaken her head. “He barely spoke to her after that, the sod. Like if she wasn’t willing to lie down with him, she wasn’t worth his notice.” She scoffed. “As if lying down with him was some great privilege—he din’t last more’n…” she’d broken off, as if realizing who she was speaking to, but Jack had only nodded and moved on to his next question.

When Phryne finally knocked timidly at his door a few hours later, the last of all the interviewees, he was exhausted.

“Come in, Miss Baker,” he said quietly, but he didn’t get up from the wing chair he’d collapsed into. He heard her close the door behind her, and then the _snick_ of the key turning in the lock. He smiled slightly; he’d left the key there for just that purpose.

“Long day, Jack?” Phryne said, sauntering over to sit on his lap. Jack raised his head from where he’d had it resting against the side of the chair to look at her as he pulled her close.

“Terribly long,” he said quietly. “Yours?”

“Long enough.” She leaned in to kiss him, one hand on his cheek as she slanted her mouth over his.

Her flavor flooded through him and his eyes fluttered closed as he savored it. He could feel it fizzing through his bloodstream, feel himself hardening against her hip as she shifted in his lap. He slid a hand up and under the front of her apron to cover her breast, his fingers plucking at her nipple.

“Mmm, Jack,” she breathed as he caressed her.

“Come over me, Phryne,” he whispered, and she complied, setting a knee on one side of his hips and swinging her leg over. Jack pushed the long skirt of her uniform up, stroking her thighs as he reached to undo the crotch of her camiknickers. He slid his hips toward the front of the seat to give her room to maneuver around him.

She looped her arms over his shoulders, continuing to kiss him. She sucked at his lower lip and ran her tongue across the deep bow of his philtrum, then turned her head to kiss him again, hard, as he stroked her sex. His fingers moved easily in the growing moisture between her thighs; he started by drawing tiny circles around her clit with his middle finger, working to stimulate the tiny bud. As she kissed him, he stroked his fingers downward, dipping inside her body to coat their tips with wetness that he brought out to lubricate the friction at her clit. Each time he did this, his fingers dipped a little deeper, until he had slid two fingers in up to the third knuckle and she was beginning to move her hips helplessly against his touch.

With a soft curse, Jack pulled his mouth away from Phryne’s, the hand that wasn’t stroking her from the inside fumbling at the fastenings to his trousers. Phryne dropped a hand down to help him, reaching inside to pull his cock out. She stroked him, her hand pushing down to his base, then retreating up to rub her palm against his head, spreading the liquid she found there in ever-expanding circles. Jack buried his head in her neck, his mouth open against her skin. She buried a hand in his hair, holding him close as she rubbed him.

“God, Phryne, please,” he whispered, and she lifted herself up on her knees. Looking up at her face, he removed his fingers and covered her hand on his cock with his own; together, they moved into alignment and she sank down onto him.

He watched her eyes flutter momentarily closed at his entrance; he reveled in the feeling of her, tight and hot and wet. When she had taken him all the way to his hilt, she kissed him again, unmoving but for the flutter of muscles against his length. His hand slid to cup her bottom, stroking the sensitive skin there and reaching between her thighs to touch the flesh that stretched around his base.

“Jack,” she whimpered against his mouth, both of her hands in his hair now, her thighs squeezing around his hips.

“Phryne,” he breathed, her name half command, half prayer.

With a gasp, she began to move, using her knees to push up until he was only just inside her, then sinking down again to take him all the way inside. The tempo grew as they got closer and closer to orgasm; when she needed to change the angle, she leaned backward, one hand on his knee, her hips pistoning against his. Jack pulled the apron’s bib aside to set his mouth over her breast, scraping her nipple lightly with his teeth through the fabric of her dress, and reveling in the sound of his name on her lips.

“Oh god, Jack, I can’t… I can’t…” Phryne’s breathing was becoming frantic as she pumped her hips against him, stretching for an orgasm that was just out of reach.

With a grunt, Jack sat up. Grasping her ass with both hands, he pushed himself out of the chair and took the two steps to set Phryne down on the edge of McKee’s desk. She hooked her legs behind him, her heels pressing into his upper thighs. Bending his knees, he kissed her again and took over the thrusting, his tongue in her mouth mimicking the action of his hips. Phryne dropped a hand between them, burrowing it under her skirt. Jack lifted his head, watching the motion of her wrist as she touched herself. Growling, he used one hand to pull her skirt out of the way, his eyes on her fingers as he continued to pump himself into her body.

“That is so… fucking… sexy,” he panted, his eyes on her fingers, and she broke, falling backward on the desk as she slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cry.

Jack muffled his shout of release behind closed lips, his head snapping back and his hips pressing hard inside her as he came.

When Jack could breathe again, he pulled out of Phryne and tucked himself back inside his trousers. He looked over at Phryne, who still lay limply across McKee’s desk with her chest heaving, her skirts around her waist, and her bare legs dangling. Shaking his head at his own haste, Jack pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her thighs, then buttoned her camiknickers and pulled down her dress. Phryne propped herself up on her elbows to watch him, then slid to sit upright on the desk.

“Come here, Jack,” she said, raising her hands to smooth his hair down where she’d been clutching at it. He closed his eyes, enjoying the caress. “Shagging an interview subject at the site of an investigation, inspector,” she purred as she stroked him, “terribly unprofessional of you.”

“I know,” he rumbled. “I’m ashamed of myself.” He opened his eyes halfway to meet hers, his lips quirking in a smile. “Should we do it again?”

 

* * *

 

Phryne laughed, throwing her arms around his neck to hug him. Jack kept surprising her, delightfully so. “Perhaps later, when we can be naked,” she murmured into his ear.

“Excellent idea, Miss Fisher.” He hugged her back, then held her hands as she hopped down off the desk.

“How did the interviews go, Jack?” She helped him tidy up—they’d knocked a few things off of McKee’s desk, and Jack crouched down to pick up some papers that had scattered.

“The staff are good people, most of them, and not one seems to have had anything more than a general dislike for either Ian MacMorran or Becky Reading. Most liked Becky, actually.” He sighed, reaching beneath the desk for something that had fallen underneath. “Would you look at this?”

“What is it?” Phryne stepped closer, peering over Jack’s shoulder to look at what he held. It was an earring, an elongated diamond-shaped dangle studded with brilliant green stones. “Goodness. Mr. McKee has lovely taste in jewelry.”

Jack pulled a small envelope out of an inside pocket of his coat and slid the earring into it. “I wonder if these have been reported stolen.” He pocketed the piece. “Did you find anything?”

“I did, actually.” Phryne’s voice was matter-of-fact, but the memory made her furious. “Edmund McKee saw me coming out of your room this morning, and he propositioned me.”

“He _what_?” Jack’s head came up and he turned to look at her, incredulous.

“Well, really he asked if I’d be willing to ‘visit’ with others of the hotel clientele on an as-needed basis.” She set her hands on her hips.

“He asked you to prostitute yourself?” Jack stood, moving toward her, his hands going to her hips. “And you didn’t stab him?”

Grinning, Phryne looked up at him. “I considered it. But instead I stayed in my role—I told him that no, I couldn’t possibly, because I had a sweetheart. But you, inspector, were just too tempting. So handsome!” She sighed theatrically, her hands resting on his lapels. “I did my best to come off as if I had nothing between my ears but air, and he tried to convince me.”

Jack tilted his head at her. “Do I need to arrest him?”

“You might, actually, because the next thing he said was that if I ever just had to spend some time with a guest again, I should look for ‘a little more than the clients were willing to pay’ and he’d take care of selling it and give me a cut of the take.”

Jack stared at her. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” He looked at her incredulously, stepping back and propping his hands on his own hips.

“Well, you distracted me.” She smiled up at him, moving close to slide her arms around his waist. “And now you’re invigorated enough to go and bring him in for questioning.”

He shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment before raising his hands to cup her face.

“You are a menace, Phryne Fisher,” he murmured, and kissed her, hard. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to take the delightful Mr. McKee in for questioning. I do hope he decides to resist.” With a dangerous smile, he pulled away from her.


	4. Chapter 4

It took less than an hour before McKee broke down under questioning, admitting to encouraging the thefts.

“All of these people are committing adultery,” the little man had said with a sneer. “It’s not as if they can report the things stolen. And besides, they have more than enough money to replace the trinkets we took.”

Jack had only blinked, amazed at the man’s rationalization. “It only took a glare or two, and Collins standing stoic behind me before he told me everything,” he told Phryne as he took a break later. “I quoted from Miss Baker’s statement, and he blustered about how you’d misunderstood—that he only wanted to help you, should a guest present you with a non-monetary gift.”

“Oh please,” Phryne scoffed. She had changed from her shabby maid’s outfit into a dress of made of floaty white chiffon printed with in a green art deco pattern; she’d happily quit her job at the hotel after her “interview” and had stopped by Wardlow before coming to the station to meet with Jack. Now she was perched, as usual, on the corner of his desk, her legs crossed and her knees exposed. Jack sat smiling up at her, his hand on her calf, fingers idly tracing whorls against the silk of her stocking.

“He did give up the name of his pawn broker, though,” Jack said, reaching for a piece of paper where he’d written the name down. He passed it to her. “I thought you could follow up with him while I go see if I can get Mr. McKee to admit to murder in addition to theft.”

“I’d be happy to.” She slipped off the desk, and Jack trailed his hand up her thigh as she moved away. Her eyes sparkled into his as she smoothed down her skirt. “Do you really think that toad is our murderer?”

“I do. There’s a flash of something in his eyes when he talks about the thefts. I’m going to give him five more minutes, then I’ll go back at him.” Swiveling in his chair to face her, he clasped his hands over his stomach and looked up at her. Keeping his voice mild, he said, “Take Collins with you to the pawnbroker’s? Just in case the man is a part of the operation.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” she said with a smile, leaning down to drop a kiss on his lips. “Besides, having a constable there will give me the authority to bring in anything that McKee sold. You’ll come by for dinner tonight?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” he said, his heart thudding at just the simple touch of her mouth.

“Dinner’s at eight, but you don’t have to wait till then if you’re free earlier.” She winked at him, then turned to wave as she sashayed out of the office.

Jack shook his head. He almost pitied the pawnbroker. He was about to be hit by a very charming freight train.

 

* * *

 

Around six-thirty that evening, Phryne was curled up with a book in the front parlor, her bare feet tucked up beneath her on the chaise. She’d only bid farewell to Mrs. Dabenham-Blakeley about fifteen minutes earlier; the pawn shop had yielded the heirloom brooch her client had lost, and Phryne had purchased it outright to keep it out of the evidence room. Collins, bless him, had looked the other way, especially because the pawnbroker was completely cooperative, offering up a log of everything that Edmund McKee had ever sold him, along with the items that were still in his inventory.

Phryne had thanked the man and assured him that he’d be paid for his trouble. He would, too, if she had to pay him herself, though she rather thought that Jack would assist her in getting the money out of McKee.

With a small sigh, she realized that she’d read the same paragraph three separate times, and she still wasn’t sure what it had said. Marking her page, she set the book aside and went to look out the front window, her thoughts on what was happening with Jack.

It was exhilarating, having finally acted on the attraction between them. She had wanted him for so long—it had been more than a year before they’d as much as kissed (that kiss in Café Anatole hardly counted, though it had flashed through her memory more than once before being replaced by the fervor of the kiss at the airfield the day she’d left for England). And now, they’d gone from flirting and innuendo to some of the most amazing sex she’d ever had.

She shook her head. What was it about Jack? He wasn’t, strictly speaking, the most handsome man she’d ever slept with, but she never tired of looking at his face; the way that he showed his emotions in only the slightest changes of expression was endlessly fascinating. He seemed to embody an infinite variety of men, constantly surprising her with the way his mind worked. She wondered whether the multitudes that Jack contained would be enough for her.

She’d always been drawn by the appeal of a new partner, but she’d managed monogamy before. Staring sightlessly out the windows, she sighed. She thought that Jack would struggle with the idea of her finding that newness with other men, not because he wanted to cage her, but because that was how he viewed sex. For Jack, she knew, sex went hand in hand with love.

And love… She shied away from examining her own feelings too closely; she wasn’t ready yet to consider them. It was enough to know that sex between them wasn’t only physical for her; he was her friend and she cared about him. That would be enough for now. And if the urge for another man arose, she and Jack could talk about it. He might surprise her yet again.

Movement in the front garden caught her eye, and she grinned. Jack was here already, and they had a full hour before dinner. _Whatever will we do to pass the time?_

 

* * *

 

Jack knocked on the door at Wardlow, hoping that Phryne had meant it when she’d said it would be all right if he came early for dinner. He’d stopped by his bungalow to pack a set of clothes for the morning. He didn’t necessarily expect to stay over, but he was prepared if the opportunity arose.

“Inspector, welcome.” Mr. Butler’s smile was warm. “May I take your things?”

“Hello, Mr. Butler.” Jack allowed the other man to help him with his overcoat and hat, and he set his bag down beneath the coatrack.

“Miss Fisher is in the parlor, sir.”

“Thank you,” Jack’s smile was brief and slightly self-conscious. He had never had staff, and the idea that Mr. Butler and, likely, Mrs. Collins knew the nature of his recent visits to Phryne was a little disconcerting. Neither of them had changed the way they treated him, though, so he supposed he’d do his best not to change as well.

He moved into the parlor, his smile growing when he saw Phryne moving in from the rear door.

“Hello, Jack,” she said, coming toward him. Her own smile was sweet and a little wicked.

“Hello, Miss Fisher.” He narrowed his eyes at her. What was she planning?

She brushed past him, one hand reaching to stroke his belly; he rotated as she passed, watching her, a little disappointed that she hadn’t greeted him with a kiss. She closed the parlor doors behind him and he heard the sound of the lock engaging, then she was turning to face him.

“I’m very glad you’re early, Jack,” her voice was a purr, and he swallowed hard.

“Are you? And why is that?”

Her eyes skimmed over his body; he felt their passage like sunlight, warming him wherever she looked.

“Because I needed something,” she said. Meeting his eyes, she stepped closer to him, pressing herself up against the front of his body, her hands pressing flat against his chest. Jack lifted his hands to rest them on her hips, dipping his head to kiss her. Their lips clung for a moment, and he catalogued her taste—the wax of her lipstick a little overwhelming before she opened her mouth and gave him her tongue; he didn’t taste anything but Phryne then, sweet and sultry.

Phryne broke the kiss, resting her forehead against his, both of them panting slightly. He heard her breathe his name, and then she was taking a step forward, pushing against him; he gave way, taking a step backward, then another until he was backed up against the curve of the piano.

She glanced up to meet his eyes and kissed him lightly once again before gracefully sinking to her knees in front of him.

“Phryne, what…” He swallowed hard as he watched her make short work of his trouser fastenings; she unhooked his braces and tugged his trousers and smalls down until they caught mid-thigh. Smoothing his shirttails upward, she tucked them under the lower edge of his waistcoat, leaving his cock bared to her gaze.

Without a word—though her face told him that she found him beautiful—she took his shaft in both hands, rubbing one thumb over his crown and pressing the other to the top of the seam on its underside. He gasped at the sensation, his eyes devouring her in her floaty dress, her hair sleekly cupping her head, her pink tongue resting on her upper lip as she examined his cock up close.

“Phryne, I don’t— oh god, Phryne!” His knees nearly buckled when she leaned forward, dragging her tongue up the bottom of his shaft to swirl it around his cockhead. He’d been hardening when she took him out, and her stroking had made that reaction accelerate, but this had taken him from semi-hard to rock solid in seconds—he couldn’t think, all the blood in his body rushing to his cock. All he could do was watch as she opened her red-slicked mouth and took him inside.

Reaching one hand to the side, he grasped the lid of the piano, hoping to keep himself upright; his other hand moved to push into her hair, the silky strands sifting through his fingers. She glanced up at him as she pushed down his length, taking him deep into her mouth, her tongue working at his underside as his crown slid along her palate. The wet heat was intoxicating—not better than being inside her as they fucked, just different. There was an element of the forbidden in this act, as if he shouldn’t like it this much, something he didn’t feel when he had his mouth on her.

He assumed that she would not have initiated this if she didn’t enjoy it—he hoped she did, because it was one of the most erotic things he’d ever experienced. The slickness of her spit as she bobbed her head up and down him, the way she’d wrap her lips around his head and use her tongue to probe at the small hole at his tip, the way she’d take him deep into the back of her throat and swallow, letting him feel the muscular pulses of her throat against his head… He threw his head back, concentrating on the feeling of what she was doing; he could feel the orgasm building in his scrotum, and he struggled to speak.

“Phryne,” he said, his low voice guttural, “I’m close, so close.” His fingers spasmed in her hair, clenching at the soft strands; he dropped his hand from the piano lid to the other side of her head, feeling the movement of her head running up his arms as he struggled not to direct her in her efforts. She didn’t need direction from him, clearly.

In response, she ran her hands between his thighs to softly rub his balls, her long fingers stroking the sensitive strip of flesh that lay behind them.

“I’m… I’m…” With a grimace, Jack came, his back bowing and his hands cupping the back of her head as she drank him down.

 

* * *

 

Phryne leaned back, letting his softening cock slide slowly from between her lips. Still holding him in both hands, she licked her lips and nuzzled into his hand where it was gently stroking her hair.

Smiling, she stood, intending to help him put his clothing to rights, but he caught her around the waist and pulled her close. His kiss was urgent, his tongue sweeping between her lips and his arms holding her tightly.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. When his kisses eased, she smiled up at him.

“Liked that, did you?”

“More than I want to admit,” he rumbled, his mouth quirking sideways.

“Well, you’re lucky that I like it too,” she said softly.

“Very, very lucky,” he agreed.

Smiling, she pulled his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and wiped at the lipstick that smeared his mouth; when she’d fixed it, she pulled back and helped him pull up his trousers and smalls, her smile wicked as she smoothed his shirt gently into his waistband, taking the opportunity to stroke his bottom and his now-resting cock.

When he was dressed, he took her hand and moved with her to sit on the chaise. Leaning against the high end, he tugged her to sit between his knees, her back resting against his chest. She nestled into him, knees tilting to one side, and he wrapped his arms around her.

“So did you get McKee to talk?” She laid her head on his shoulder, looking up at the line of his jaw and his cheekbone; she turned her head just a little further and his scent—pomade, bay rum, and sweat, plus a warm spice that just said _Jack_ —filled her nostrils. She breathed deeply, content.

“I did,” he said, his fingers lightly stroking her arms. “About a half-hour after you left, I started tossing in questions about the two victims, and it wasn’t long before he tripped himself up.” His voice became grim. “Apparently, Becky Reading had been thieving for him; she’d brought in several ‘very nice’ pieces, according to McKee.” He shook his head, and Phryne took one of his hands, flattening it against her belly and placing her hand over the top of it, her fingers lacing through his.

“He killed her?” She was certain, but she phrased it as a question.

“Yes. Accidentally, according to him. They were in the staff stairwell, on the third floor, and they had an argument. Becky wanted more of the take, said she was taking all the risk. He refused, and Becky punched him.” At this, his lips quirked in that sideways smile.

“Good girl,” Phryne murmured. She could tell that Jack was distilling the conversation with McKee down into its salient points, likely because the little man had been particularly unpleasant to interview.

“He pushed her shoulder—to keep her from hitting him again, he said—and her foot slipped off the top step of the staircase. He claims that he tried to catch her, but missed. I have my doubts about how hard he tried.”

“I do too,” she stroked the back of his hand where it lay on her stomach. “Especially since he didn’t just report it as an accident.”

“No, he didn’t. In fact, he put her body in a closet at the base of the stairwell until the shift was over, and then took it out and dumped it in the Yarra.” Jack’s lip curled. “He likely thought that no one would miss her.”

“Unfortunately, he was probably right.” Phryne’s voice was soft and sad. “Poor thing. And Ian MacMorran?”

“Oh yes,” Jack’s tone was grim. “That was… not an accident.” She glanced up, watching his jaw clench. “McKee said that MacMorran saw Becky hit the bottom of the stairs. He was apparently having a smoke in the stairwell—”

“Oh, McKee must have hated that. We were told specifically that it wasn’t allowed.” Phryne smirked a little at the thought of the mixture of fury and panic the slimy little man must have felt.

“So McKee said.” Jack’s dry tone implied that McKee had said it rather stridently. “At any rate, MacMorran saw McKee come down after her. Told McKee that he’d heard the whole argument and that McKee would need to pay him to keep him quiet.” Jack’s hand on her arm continued to stroke her skin as he told the story. “So when McKee came back from disposing of Becky’s body, he waited for MacMorran outside the kitchen door at the end of shift. McKee stood beside the door with a brick and coshed MacMorran over the head as he came out for the evening.”

Phryne lifted her head to look incredulously at Jack. “MacMorran was considerably taller than McKee—how did he manage that?”

“Apparently, McKee stood on a box.” Jack nodded at the small scoffing noise Phryne made as she laid her head back down. “He didn’t sound at all unhappy about killing MacMorran, either. He had at least seemed a little remorseful for letting Becky fall, but he actually apologized for letting his temper get the best of him after MacMorran was down—apparently, he kicked and punched the man once he was on the ground, and he considered that ‘ungentlemanly’ behavior.”

“But hitting him over the head with a brick wasn’t?” Phryne’s voice was dry this time, and she shook her head.

“Not in his mind, I suppose.” He turned his head and kissed Phryne’s temple. “I suppose he has to justify it somehow, and MacMorran was rather disrespectful. That, and the attempt to extort money from him, was enough for McKee.”

Taking a deep breath, Jack kissed her temple again. “Thank you for your help,” he said softly.

“Of course,” she said simply.

Jack kissed her again, this time on the mouth, his tongue dipping sweetly between her lips. His hand on her stomach slid up to cup her breast, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and Phryne lifted her arm up to encircle his head, laying herself open to him.

“How long do we have before dinner?” His voice was a murmur in her ear as he broke away, and it sent a shiver down her body.

“At least half an hour,” she breathed. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I let you give me an orgasm that made me see stars, but you didn’t take anything for yourself.” He kissed her face again, this time her forehead, and the hand on her breast squeezed lightly while his other hand shifted to her leg.

She was sitting with her waist twisted, her legs resting against his thigh, and he pushed lightly at the one on top.

“Turn a little and put your knees up,” he said, lifting the edge of her skirt and peeling it back toward her belly. She complied, shifting her hips and raising her knees. He folded her skirt back over her stomach, exposing her knickers. With a hum, he covered her mound with his hand, cupping his palm between her legs.

Phryne drew in a deep breath, her flesh was already sensitive with arousal—she had nearly come herself, having him in her mouth—and the weight of his fingers felt exquisite. His hand on her breast dropped to her waist, his fingers undoing the line of buttons down the side of her dress so that he could slip his hand inside and push past her camisole to reach her skin.

Jack ran his fingers over the silk between her thighs, outlining her sex with delicate touches. He held the sides of her knickers taut and then pressed his middle finger along the center line of her labia; the softness of the fabric contrasted beautifully with the pressure of his hand, and she sighed with pleasure.

One hand now on her naked breast, Jack pushed the middle finger of the other against the fabric between her legs to rub her clitoris, the silk pulling taut as he forced it around his fingertip. He pressed against her first, then rubbed in tiny circles. Phryne’s hips shifted; she could feel the push of his fingers and the draw of the silk against her skin as her body loosened, moisture leaking out of her to dampen the fabric, making it slippery.

Jack opened his mouth against the underside of her jaw as he caressed her breast and pushed his silk-covered finger farther between her nether lips. Phryne shifted her hips again, wanting him lower, wanting the pressure of him against her opening.

“Jack,” she gasped, stretching her neck to give him better access to her throat.

He pulled his fingers away and she moaned, but he only brought his hand to the top of her knickers and pushed inside. Sliding downward again, he speared three fingers between her lips, pushing gently against her clit as he went by before sliding two fingers into her passage to the third knuckle. Phryne arched in pleasure, her hand behind his head tangling in his hair and the other, resting on his knee, squeezing hard. Jack pulled his fingers out, keeping just their tips inside, and rotated them, stroking the pads of his fingers against her wet inner walls before pushing them in to the third knuckle again.

His hand on her breast switched to cross her chest and tease her other nipple as he began a rhythm with his hand between her legs. Shifting, he pushed a third finger inside her, his thumb anchoring at her clit and adding a press-and-release to the small bundle of nerves that heightened the feeling of his fingers slipping in and out of her, faster and faster, their tips curling to drag along the walls of her passage with each stroke. Abruptly, he pushed inside her body and held there, his thumb circling her clit madly and the fingers of his other hand pinching and pulling at her nipple at the same time.

Phryne’s mouth opened in a silent wail as he began pumping at her again, his hand on her breast sliding out of her dress and down to meet the other between her legs. With the fingers of one hand working her clit in the same pressing, pulling, pinching motion he’d used on her nipple and the fingers of the other pistoning between her legs, she shattered. Her thighs shook, her knees slapping together to trap his hand within her body, and her hand on his head clenched in his hair as her back arched again, this time in orgasm.

When her body’s spasms quieted, Jack slid his hands out of her knickers and brought them to his mouth. Phryne smoothed her skirt back down over her knees and rebuttoned her bodice; she shuddered again, another small release, as she watched him clean himself of her fluids, a look of rapt attention on his face.

“How I ever managed to keep my hands off of you until now, Jack Robinson, I will never know,” she marveled, turning to curl into his chest.

“Likewise, Miss Fisher,” he said, tilting his head to cover her mouth with his. He tasted of himself and her, and Phryne raised a hand to cup his hard jaw.

“The last few days have been a bit of a whirlwind,” she murmured when she pulled away, her thumb sweeping over his bottom lip.

“They have,” he agreed. “Is that bad?”

Phryne shook her head adamantly. “No, definitely not. I just…” She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide. “I’m not always good at relationships, Jack.”

“I don’t believe it, Phryne,” he said quietly, one large hand stroking her back. He leaned back, his eyes on hers. “You have relationships every day that last and last—look at Jane and Dot, and Mac.”

“ _Romantic_ relationships, Jack,” she said with a sigh. “I haven’t been in a long-term relationship for more than ten years. I don’t know if I can do that anymore.”

He looked at her, his expression serious but his eyes warm. “So what does that mean? Do you want to stop this now, while we’re still friends?”

“No, Jack!” She sat up, her hand on his chest and her eyes stricken. “No, I don’t. I just don’t want to let you down. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He tugged her close again. “Then you won’t, Phryne.”

“How can you be sure?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper. “You’ve met my father. You know what kind of stock I come from. What if I’m not capable of—”

He kissed her softly, stopping her words. “You are the most loving and loyal woman I know.” He pulled back to look at her again. “If you are unhappy in whatever this is—” he waved a hand between them “—I expect you to say so, and we’ll figure out what it is that you need.”

“And what _you_ need too, Jack.” She tilted her head, tucking her nose in his neck. “I couldn’t stand it if you sacrificed yourself to make me happy.”

“What I need, Phryne,” he said, his voice low and fervent, “is to be with you as long as you’ll let me.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure how we got here, but I will do everything in my power to keep us both happy.”

Phryne nodded, and hugged his neck, her arms wrapping tightly around him. Lifting her head, she spoke into his ear, her voice breathy but sure.

“What I know, Jack, is that this thing, you and me? It’s _important_. And I’m not going to let it go without a fight.” She could feel the pricking of tears at the back of her eyes, and she blinked carefully, swallowing hard to will them away.

He turned his head, his eyes damp, and kissed her, hard. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, her grip on his neck never slackening; she reveled in the feeling of his arms wound strongly around her.

They stayed that way, entwined on the chaise, until Mr. Butler knocked discreetly at the parlor door to announce that dinner was ready. With a final squeeze, Phryne sat up, reluctantly separating from Jack.

“Shall we have dinner, Jack?” Her voice was light, and she smiled at his mussed hair and swollen lips. Reaching out, she smoothed his curls into a semblance of their normal order.

“Well, as Mr. Butler has gone to so much trouble,” he said, in a mock-serious voice, his eyes twinkling as he leaned into her caresses.

“And you’ll need your strength,” she said. “You’ll stay tonight?”

“I would love to, Miss Fisher,” he replied, his smile escaping to tweak the edges of his wide mouth.

Standing, she held out her hand to her lover and led him in to dine.


End file.
